


Ethereal Moon

by boys_in (kaleidosphere)



Series: Yurileth Week 2020 [6]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Cinderella Elements, Drama, F/M, Falling In Love, Female My Unit | Byleth, Implied Sexual Content, Love, fast burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24559486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaleidosphere/pseuds/boys_in
Summary: "What happened? What made you change your mind?""You did."
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Edelgard von Hresvelg & My Unit | Byleth & Claude von Riegan, Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc/My Unit | Byleth
Series: Yurileth Week 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1746655
Comments: 9
Kudos: 53





	Ethereal Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Extremely belated Day 6 entry for [Yurileth Week 2020,](https://twitter.com/yurilethweek) the prompt I used was  dancing . Please note the word count and the fact that I was creatively stumped for so long, only to churn this beast of a fic out in the past few days. Sorry about the inconsistencies! Other than that, enjoy, and thank you all so much for the support.

**30th of Red Wolf Moon.**

"The ball lasts for the entirety of Ethereal Moon?"

"The King and Queen must love their daughter enough to hold a celebration for that long."

"They're _royalty,_ y'know? They could throw a celebration for the entire year and get away with it."

"I'm excited to see Her Highness—I've heard she's a beauty."

"Only a few people have ever seen what she looks like. Heard a rumor she's nothing like the King."

"Heard another rumor that the King isn't the girl's real father—that's why they keep her hidden from the public."

The chatter continues down the streets. The Eisners are the talk of the kingdom, and though fair and reserved, their secrecy leaves a lot to be desired. A lot to be talked about.

Yuri hears all of it. He has to, because his mission is to infiltrate that castle. Not a classic, "steal the princess from her tower" infiltration, but a subtle subversion of all the subtleties he can think of. Shadows and daggers in place of flashes and cannons: a discretion that cannot be ignored.

Yuri has been contracted to kill the princess of Fódlan.

He does not try to assuage his concerns or dispel his thoughts. He has never been one for avoiding reality, even though real things have thrown him for a loop at times. He is not one to avert his eyes from violence, bloodshed, or death—he is a harbinger for the exact same things. This is not the first time he has been contracted to kill, nor will it be the last.

Yet the thought of turning on his country, slaying an innocent person, and having no money or reward to show for it, leaves something bitter in the back of his throat.

_Oh, that's right, you've never committed treason, have you?_

_Oh, that's right, you've never killed an innocent person, have you?_

_Oh, that's right, you've never worked for free, have you?_

Yes, it is true: Yuri has not done anything that would _technically_ be viewed as treason, and all of his targets have been other blackhearts so far. And to commit such terrible acts are things that Yuri never does for free.

But exceptions are made, even if it means breaking the rules.

"Don't forget your objective," a voice hisses from the shadows. Yuri does not flinch at the sound as he merely stares ahead into the crowded streets, observing with his arms crossed. "You can't forget what's at stake."

"I won't," he murmurs.

After all, rules are meaningless when it comes to family.

/

/

It is the last day of Red Wolf Moon. Byleth Eisner sits on a pearl-white chaise in her bedroom chambers, eyes trained to the colorful tapestry that hangs over her bed. It is large, tall, the knotted gold scraping by the ceiling and the loose threads draping over the floor. Even so, it clearly depicts the regions within the Kingdom: the Faerghus flatlands to the west, the Adrestian coast to the south, and the Leicester mountain ranges to the east. All three are adorned in respective blue, red, and yellow colors, and they are beautiful when they should otherwise be eye-straining.

She wonders if that is how she will be seen by her own subjects soon enough: something beautiful but odd to look at. Something that should remain in a bedchamber, only to be aired out every once in a while. Something that exists due to whimsy and whimsy alone.

She sighs, and moves from her place on the chaise to the full-length mirror nearby her bed. In it, she can view her every feature: sky blue eyes, deep blue hair, the fullest figure accentuated by her muscles. The princess of a ruling country is expected to be trained in combat, and Byleth loves her sword almost as much as she loves another person. She shivers at the thought of abandoning it, having to switch to a nondescript dagger the moment her home becomes a dance hall—the moment her clothes are traded for a traitorous dress meant to impress suitors.

"You don't have to suit anyone," Jeralt reassures her one day. "This is a formality more than anything. If you and me corner your mom, then maybe—"

"Who's cornering who, now?" Sitri's voice, sweet and light, drifts like honeyed air through the room, though Byleth and Jeralt know better than to trust the wide smile on her face. Her white dress is regal and flowing behind her, trailing effortlessly as she steps up to them with a hum. "I thought we agreed that hosting this ball was a _good_ thing."

"We did." Jeralt nods. "I just wanted to offer a chance to cancel. This whole thing is an overblown party—"

"It's _fun,_ " Sitri groans. "And our baby never gets to do anything fun."

"Hunting monsters _is_ fun," Byleth insists. "But if you want me to dance—"

"You don't need to dance," Jeralt murmurs.

"You _have_ to dance!" Sitri whines.

Any thoughts that have plagued Byleth concerning the month-long celebration are now gone. Seeing her parents bicker—seeing the paling look on Jeralt's face and Sitri's burning cheeks—is reason enough to go through with the ordeal. Even if it means she has to dance and socialize and be the pretty princess everyone expects her to be, even if it means she has to subject herself to Claude's rants on poison and board games, even if it means she has to say "it's okay" a million times to an apologizing Dimitri when he inevitably steps on her feet, even if it means she has to deal with Edelgard's subtle teasings throughout the night, even through all of that and more, Byleth will bite down on her lips, and fake happiness like they sell it out of a bottle.

"I'll dance," Byleth concedes. She sighs and throws her hair behind her shoulder. "But I don't know if I can do it for a whole month straight."

"Not even a whole month—seven hours a day, six days a week, four weeks to a moon. When was the last time we celebrated _anything,_ let alone the coming-of-age ceremony for my only _daughter?"_

Sitri continues to pout, which elicits a laugh from Jeralt, which in turn causes Byleth to concede and smile. Her parents are goofy, her kingdom has watchful eyes, but if it makes people happy one way or another, she will endure anything.

Parting with her sword, for even a moment, seems unwise. She tries not to let this show as her parents envelop her in their love, all happy and warm.

A sweet reality for an Ethereal Moon.

/

/

_Yuri,_

_I don't need to remind you of what's at stake. I have said this earlier in the day, but you chose to ignore me, thinking away useless thoughts in that head of yours. While you stand pondering your options, you forget the sway I have over you._

_Thankfully, I am generous as I am innovative. You will have the entirety of Ethereal Moon to carry out your task. On the final night, between the transition that is Ethereal Moon and Guardian Moon, as the clock strikes midnight, I ought to hear that one Byleth Eisner is dead._

_Or else your mother will be._

/

/

**1st of Ethereal Moon.**

Byleth Eisner stands in the reception hall of the castle, ogling the workers as they hurry to and fro, eager to decorate everything until they become unrecognizable, adorning hallways and rooms with garlands and ribbons, glitter and shine.

She turns up her nose at a particularly loud painting of the Gloucester family portrait, situated in the Hall of Nobles, where the land's once-great families are immortalized in art. Funny that the shades of purple should be outdone by the golden sheen of a certain Riegan household—one which has its own _wall_ in comparison to other families' singular portraits.

"Wow, Teach. You've done it again."

Claude's voice permeates the air, and Byleth can hear Dimitri and Edelgard not far behind him. Leave it to her three best friends to arrive at the party quite early, even though there are more pressing matters in each of their families' guarded territories. Because even though the Eisner Royal family oversees the entire kingdom, there are three delegate families that watch over the separated pieces of land: Faerghus to the west, Adrestia to the south, Leicester to the east. Dimitri, Edelgard, and Claude.

Byleth sighs out of relief, and turns to face her friends head on. "What are you talking about, Claude?"

"You've become the most breath-taking sight in the room. I don't know why we throw balls when we could just put you up on a big pedestal—display you for all the world to see." Claude grins widely. His hair is neater than Byleth has ever seen it, though with the cream-colored silks and draped half-coat, Claude's figure still reeks of leisure. He even throws his hands behind his head, without a care in the world for how that reflects on him as an extended hand of power in the royal affairs.

Of course, Dimitri takes things too seriously, instead, and his handsome face is marred by a deep frown, accompanied by his too-stiff stance as he bows before Byleth. "My apologies, Your Highness. It would seem that Claude, despite suggesting we arrive early, is still up to his usual hijinks."

"Hijinks? I'm genuinely complementing our beloved _princess_ —" he emphasizes the word because Byleth has explicitly stated she hates it when they refer to her that way— "on her beloved appearance. There is nothing nonsensical about that!"

"You two are idiots," Edelgard groans as she comes up beside them. Next to Claude's ensemble (easy, silky, gold) and Dimitri's garb (stiff, dark, royal blue), Edelgard seems perfectly at home in the castle, wearing a lavish gown of her own. Of course, the Adrestian region boasts its history in black and red colors, and her scarlet gown and eagle-feathered gloves are no exception. Byleth even notices that Edelgard's hair is pinned back into a sophisticated bun, rather than its usual style, and she raises a brow at the sight.

"They are," Byleth agrees. "You guys are here early."

"Wouldn't miss the opening ceremony for the world," Claude hums. "It _is_ good to see you again, Teach. I feel like it's been centuries since we last met."

"It's been three weeks."

"You wound me." Claude sighs, and eyes the refreshments at the nearby table. "Should I offer to go get us drinks or should I save ourselves the misery?"

Byleth scrunches her nose: the last time they had a gathering of any kind that involved food, she offered to brew the drinks herself. Needless to say, the kingdom should not worry about potential assassins when Byleth is so good at incapacitating people on her own. "I didn't make them, if that's what you're implying."

"Alright, I'll go get us some snacks. Anyone want anything specific? Now's your chance before I assign you whatever drink I find mentally suitable."

Dimitri looks taken aback, as he so often does when he is around Claude. "That isn't—are you serious, Claude?"

"Let him," Edelgard says, a hint of amusement in her voice. "I want to see what drinks he finds 'mentally suitable' for us."

"Three whiskeys, coming right up." Claude grins, looks at Byleth, and adds, "And a glass of water for Teach."

He is gone, and Byleth falls into familiar rapport with the other two. They are the heirs apparent to their families' titles, those that share a wealthy relationship with the royal family. Despite this, they have only ever been friends, and Byleth is the common link between all of them. They have years of childhood, teenagedom, and adolescence between them. They will have years of adulthood lying ahead of them.

And as the hour gets closer to evening—as the clock strikes down closer to five—Byleth knows that her familiar world is about to be flooded again. Her friends will be lost in a whirlwind of party and fervor, and the kingdom will ogle the rumored-about princess. They will bask in her glory, and put her upon a pedestal, whether they mean to or not.

Hours are left for the first ball of the Ethereal Moon.

Hours until the shadows catch up to the smoking ash of _fire._

/

/

Yuri decides that the moment he steps onto the castle grounds, he hates the royal family of Fódlan.

Not because of his mission to assassinate the King and Queen's sole daughter, of course! No, he hates them because of how _naive_ they are in the face of danger. He hates them because they have not trained their guards well enough to spot a traitor amongst their ranks, just as they have not been alerted of a criminal lying in wait. He hates them because they laugh wholeheartedly, smile at all the townspeople, and revel in the glory and peace their kingdom has brought them.

He hates them because they are good people, and it will make erasing one of them all the more difficult.

Though Aelfric's many letters and threats resonate like a midnight bell in the back of Yuri's mind, he steadies his breathing to prevent panic from rising through the surface.

The gatekeeper smiles at him warmly. "Welcome, welcome! Please come in! The castle is yours to explore! Drink, dance, and revel to your heart's content!"

"I sure will," Yuri whispers as he passes by. He goes unnoticed, obviously. The whole plan hinges on his ability to blend in, as well as to pass off as another innocent partygoer. Yet at the same time, he does not spare expenses on his disguise, which is minimal given the theme of the royal ball.

Masquerade.

He does not know if he wants to laugh, cry, or some mixture of the two. It really is too easy for him, and part of him almost wishes it were some other theme instead. Some other excuse for him to go unmasked, for him to reveal the features of his face and the paint above his eyes. A reason for him to face his victim head on, without an additional barrier between what already exists.

A reason.

Tonight, Yuri is dressed in his best attire. His hair is brushed neatly, with the strands on the right side of his head tucked neatly behind his ear. His lips are pale, pretty, and painted as he smiles calmly. He wants to look pleased and happy—he wants to look amazed by the castle and all it offers to him.

He wants to look innocent.

In addition to his face and his hair, his mask is pearl-white, adorned with feathers and a hawkish-beak. Many people will mistake him for an Adrestian, as they see birds and instantly think "eagle." Many people will not know the difference between hawk or eagle, and how they circle or strike their prey when discovered.

They will not see his dagger when it plunges into Byleth's chest. Not until it is too late, anyway.

And the dagger is well-concealed. His outfit is primarily white, but there are beautiful lilac accents that match his hair near perfectly, a silk sash here and a lilac corsage there. Even his lapels are a pretty purple shade, and a noble cape flows out behind him like a set of wings, translucent and light. His steps are practiced, perfect, but _silent,_ which is an impressive feat considering the boots. There are no weapons on his person—most guests are stripped of harmful objects near the front gate, but not even a trained guard could detect where Yuri hid the dagger.

He feels it moving with him, every part of a bone as his actual body is, rigid and strife against his muscle. But the pain is nothing compared to a future outcome. The agony of the blade, inserted into flesh, is half the measure when he thinks of his mother.

And Aelfric.

Fucking Aelfric.

Yuri exhales softly, and resigns himself to the refreshment table. There, he sees a group of young women, gasping and giggling to themselves as they take in the scene. Two of them wear half-masks, like Yuri's, and their lips are visibly bright red and blue in territorial colors. The other three wear full-face masks, bright white with gold emblems on them. There is a single woman among them using a mask with a stick, and she holds the apparatus close to her face as the feathered image of a peacock transforms her eyes and cheeks. Their gowns are all silken, beautiful, trailing.

Yuri studies them for a moment, listening for any useful information between them. Not that he needs to know much for his mission: Princess Byleth should be easy enough to spot on her own.

"Excuse me," someone asks. Yuri turns to see a young man with dark brown hair, donning a half-mask that looks like a deer. The mask itself is a deep earthy color, but the golden finishings and silver embellishments look like stars embedded into the surface. This person reeks of Leicester pride, and Yuri tries not to let his long-forgotten Faerghus roots show. "But I have to say, you're quite beautiful."

Yuri resists the urge to snort. Even when he makes a point of being discrete, his natural beauty draws others to him like flies to honey. "And how would you know? We're all masked, after all. For all you know, I could be hideous underneath."

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," the stranger reminds. There is a lilt to his voice that sounds not too unlike Yuri's natural cadence, and he hides his smile behind a crystal goblet of wine. After a few sips, he places the drink down on the table, and says, "I'm sure that even without the mask, you're a sight for sore eyes."

"Keep talking like that and you might just find out for yourself." Yuri has no intention of going through with it, of course. He is a natural flirt and even better as an artificial one. People seek romance or romantic inclinations even when there are none. He bats his eyelashes (which are somehow visible through the beady holes in his mask) prettily, and speaks with equal parts intrigue and flirtation. "Though I can't say how much trust I can put into a deer. They're fragile things, y'know. Running away when it suits them, succumbing to fate when it doesn't."

The stranger smiles the closest thing to a frown there is. Yuri almost laughs out loud. "I'd beg to differ."

"In public? Good sir, you're tempting me to nothing."

"If the princess heard you just now, she'd shiver in her boots."

"What has the princess got to do with this?"

The stranger laughs, and swirls his drink around tentatively. Yuri watches the dark red color stain like blood. "Why, everything, of course. She's right over there."

And perhaps it is the stranger's disposition, but Yuri does not expect his target to be in vicinity so soon. The ball has only just begun, and the castle is awash with joyous people eager to celebrate. More than the reception hall, guest rooms, dining hall, and formal ball room is the entire castle itself. Only the most sanctimonious objects are placed elsewhere, and only the most private bedrooms are kept off-limits. Yuri would imagine that in another place, another time, he would planning a heist, rather than a murder.

He pushes those thoughts to the side as he gazes upon the princess.

He does not ask the stranger about which girl is the princess, because even though they are all masked and dressed in their finest, she stands out like a sore thumb.

Her hair is worn into a half-ponytail that looks sloppy, but perhaps the charm and pattern is deliberate. Her gown is—surprisingly—all black, with pink lace at the hem and sleeves, as well as a matching lace choker at her neck, where the gown gathers in strings. It is a bold, almost inappropriate look, but the pink accentuates the rose gold accessories in full: bracelets, earrings, and rings that glitter in the sparkling light of the chandeliers.

Not to mention the matching tiara on her head, a small headpiece that is almost unnoticeable, were it not for the contrasting shades of blue that exist in her hair. Like Yuri, she dons a half-mask, but unlike her kingdom, there are no familiar motifs of birds, deer, or lions. Instead, her mask seems something like a demon's, with tiny horns protruding near the forehead, an ashen gray pallor offset by black streaks.

She is quietly pondering life over her glass of wine, but sets it down at Yuri's behest. "Did you need something?" she asks, in a voice much quieter and more stronger than he would expect of a crowned royal. There is a near monotone to her words, but something raspier in the ends of her syllables.

She sounds tough. She sounds careful.

She sounds like him, if he were to let his guard down.

He does not like it at all.

"I'm sure whatever I need is far below what a princess should worry over," he replies smoothly. He glances around—the deer stranger is nowhere to be found. Did he leave as soon as the princess appeared? Strange.

"Hmm." Her voice is far from melodic. He wonders if she can even sing. "Somehow, I doubt that."

"I'd be remiss to be the cause of Her Highness' doubt," Yuri coos. He bows before her, lowering his head far enough that she can see the silver hairpin in the back of his head, and the intricate ribbon tied at the base of his neck. "If I may, I'd like to dance your worries away, since I so foolishly caused them to start with."

When he comes back up from the bow, he is surprised to find her curious, as well. She looks as if she doesn't know what he means, and that she is no more a princess than he is. But soon enough, her paused movements go back into motion, and she stretches out her hand for him to take.

There are gloves over her slender fingers. Though they are black, like the majority of her ensemble, they are also thicker and sturdier than ball gowns require.

They are _battle_ gloves, and with visible tears in them, as if she had been practicing combat as of late.

Yuri smiles.

He likes the challenge.

/

/

Byleth cannot think of anything except for the strange man in front of her. He is gilded lilies and lilac, brilliant shades of purple and white that would put the castle's garden to shame. He is slender, regal, and quite handsome, from whatever features she can glean from his half-covered face. He is a shameless flirt, too.

Yet, when his hands grasp hers, she feels a steadiness in them that is strange. Most suitors, even the most experienced ones, tend to hesitate in her presence. Whenever they grasp her hand, she can feel their pulses thrumming from beneath her fingertips—a sensitivity so great, she has resorted to wearing gloves, an additional reason to do so besides handling weapons easier.

Though tonight, she wishes she could take them off, if only so she could feel the strength of a man so gentle, she feels robbed in his pretty words.

The softness of a man so hard, his walls are like concrete between them: corporeal, tall, strong, _real._

Insurmountable.

/

/

They dance, and the entire castle goes silent at their display, which is so graceful and beautiful, it is as if they had practiced beforehand. Some guests spark rumors that the man is Byleth's secret lover, and in the guise of a masquerade ball, has finally made his affections public. Others suggest he is a foreign prince, coming to charm the princess in her own home, ready to wage political (and romantic) warfare upon Fódlan at once.

Whatever the case, the man with the white bird's mask is the talk of the party, and hyper giggles are hushed instantly the moment he comes near a gossiping group. Between the theories and fantasies, one thing is for sure.

Their dance is so harmonious, it is natural, not too unlike swans—white and black—welcoming each other to a shared pond.

Uniting what must eventually be broken.

/

/

Several sways and hushed conversations later, and Byleth finds herself reeling. It is not because of the handsome masked stranger, she tells herself, but rather because she has had one glass too many of the kingdom's finest wine. It has nothing to do with the gilded lily and perfected lilac. It has more to do with _her,_ an imperfect rose.

She tells herself this several times before she can believe it.

Edelgard is quick to shatter her illusions. "Your affections for that man could not _be_ more obvious."

"El," Byleth groans. They are lucky that the rest of the party is dying down. There are less than two hours left before the first night comes to a close, and half of the population (mostly elders or children) have turned in early. The two women find themselves in the courtyard, seated in a pergola overlooking the hedge maze. "Be quiet. Someone could hear you."

"They could, but they'd only hear what they already know."

"El."

"Seriously." Edelgard's gown is slightly ruffled. Byleth pretends not to know that a certain masked songstress had her way with Edelgard, the same woman Edelgard often praises as being the most beautiful opera singer alive. Byleth also pretends that Dorothea is not a good friend, herself, after seeing her show several times in the past, and that she was not the one who personally invited her to the ball (though invites are superfluous for public events, but the thought was there!).

As she pretends, she answers with halfhearted emotion. "I don't think I'm particularly in love, or anything."

"Well, of course. Who would fall in love at first sight?"

Byleth's immediate answer is _you,_ when she thinks back to the dalliance between her best friend and Dorothea. "I don't know," is the answer she manages to give verbally. "He is charming, but I've seen plenty of suitors. They're all charming, in their own way."

"Yes, but you never dance more than once with the same suitor. I'm sure that man has asked you three times tonight to dance with him. And the moment you agreed, all eyes were on you."

Byleth groans, and buries her face into her arms. It is late, so any makeup that was once applied is now gone, and she has half a mind to remove her face mask, if only so she can feel the wind on her own cheeks again. "It was a single night, only. I doubt I'll ever see him again."

"You say that as if your parents aren't the ones hosting a month-long ball in your honor. To celebrate your coming-of-age ceremony on the first of Guardian Moon."

"Don't remind me," Byleth says. "Just thinking about the process is enough to make me angry."

Edelgard smiles, and runs her hand over Byleth's. "Of course, we'll be with you every step of the way. And though it's cliche, I suppose if you wanted to court someone, now would be a good time to do it."

"Courting? The man with the white bird's mask?" Byleth blinks once, twice, then adds: "You're crazy."

"And _you're_ considering it."

"Yes I am."

"Alright." They both fall silent for a few moments, and El is the first one to break. "So, what have you decided?"

"I'm going to try."

"Wait, seriously? I'd be fine if you refused, you know."

"But I like the idea of it. And I wouldn't call it _courting_ as much as I'd call it... _flirting._ Dancing. Talking with kindness." Byleth sighs, and leans back into her seat. "I find the man interesting. At the end of this nonsense, we will reveal our masks and he will turn out to be related to me, somehow. Or a criminal in disguise. Then all this dancing will come to an end."

"You're too negative."

"You can hardly be the one telling me that, y'know."

"Fine." Edelgard huffs, and stands to her feet. "I'll assist. I'll get Dimitri in on this, too. And I'd better tell Claude before he employs some heinous means of figuring it out himself."

"That's—" Byleth almost protests, but remembers her three closest friends, and agrees instantly— "a good idea. And I'll go see if he's still here."

She stands to her feet, clattering against the pergola table and the lattice gate behind her. Edelgard moves to assist, but Byleth steadies herself, and walks out of the pergola without incident. At this hour, the sky is almost entirely black, and the lanterns that illuminate the courtyard and the rest of the castle seem as ghosts, wayward souls who light the darkest corners.

Byleth wonders if any of those ghosts are laughing at her now, for chasing a passing fancy that took less than an hour to deduce and accept. Regardless, she walks straight and proud with Edelgard at her side, and the two of them guess at the stranger's true identity intensely, like children, laughing and smiling all the while.

Even if romance is a bust, true friendship and kinship can always be relied on.

Byleth is certain of this.

/

/

When Yuri dances, it is with reluctance, until he remembers that his face is obscured, and the rest of the world only sees him for his white feathers and purple hair. They know nothing of him beyond initial appearances, and they have no idea how hard his heart hammers against his chest, every spin, twist, and turn he takes dancing with Byleth.

Every part of him is screaming to _do it now! Kill her, and be done with it!_ And some twisted curiosity within refuses to do so, instead opting to dance the night away with her, earning the praise and envy of onlookers alike. He knows that somewhere within the crowd is the King and Queen, and news of their daughter's latest suitor-pseudo-dance-partner will reach their ears. If they like the development between them, they might actually consider him as a viable match!

And of the things to experience that night, a fledgling romance is not one of them. Yuri is sure of himself, so he knows for a fact that he hates the princess for existing, merely because it is her existence that is being used as leverage against him and his mother. He hates her for being so kind and welcoming, even though she was right to hesitate at the sight of him. He hates how she treats him with respect, and even chuckles at some of his better jokes as he attempts to lighten the mood.

He hates associating with her, because it reminds him of the reason he is even here in the first place.

And it burns.

/

/

"Are you going to come back?"

Yuri freezes in place. The firm, unyielding voice of Princess Byleth resonates behind him, and he dares to speak over his shoulder to her. "What?"

She is not bothered by his bluntness, or his hesitancy to face her head on. She merely takes a step forward, and repeats herself ardently. "Are you going to come back? Here, to the castle?"

"I didn't plan on it," Yuri lies. He lies because his original goal involved staying until Byleth Eisner became a corpse, but instead time got the best of him, and now he has to extend his mission a day further. "Why do you ask?"

"If you were to come again, I'd gladly welcome another dance." She sounds more royal now, he thinks. More polite and regal. The tone is not unbefitting, as he once wondered it would be. Rather, she sounds natural, like being a royal was always meant to be her calling. "Of course, that's only if you're coming back. If I never see you again, I'd like to know beforehand. Before any strange thoughts arise."

"If I come back, will you still be here?"

She sputters. "W-What? I'm the _princess,_ y'know. It's not like I have anywhere else to be."

"I mean, will you still be present tomorrow?" Yuri grins, and swivels on his heels, another fluid movement in his water-wind body. "Or will I find a different princess, one who puts the past far, far behind her?"

"You're asking if I'd change myself, simply because you became more interesting than I initially thought."

"Yes."

Byleth smiles softly, and strides by him delicately. She means to leave him, but before she is gone, her words are delivered like bird's wings to his ears.

" _I guess you'll just have to find out for yourself."_

/

/

**2nd of Ethereal Moon.**

_Tonight,_ Yuri thinks, _is the night when I kill her. Tonight, I will kill Byleth Eisner, and Aelfric Dahlman will release my mother, and with her I shall run away. I'll be wanted the whole country over. We can't possibly stay._

_And it happens tonight._

But of course, on the second night of the ball, Yuri steps into the castle's threshold, and finds himself charmed by the princess yet again. Tonight, she wears a carmine-colored dress, short and flouncy as she becomes a spinning top, chiffon and tulle skirts like a rose unfurling its petals. And Yuri, to match, is donned in all black, but his white mask is familiar and stark against his dark ensemble. They dance, and the same vigor and excitement from the night previous comes about, and they are lost in the magic of the moment.

Another day passes, and the princess yet lives.

Yuri punches a wall hard enough until his knuckles bleed.

_Focus, you Goddess-damned idiot. Do you love your mother or not? Do you want her fucking dead or not?_

_Just kill Byleth. Just kill her._

_Just do it._

/

/

He doesn't.

/

/

**8th of Ethereal Moon.**

"Byleth, a word, if I may?"

The princess turns to face one of her three closest friends: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. He is as beloved by the kingdom's residents as the princess herself, and so despite seeing him eight nights in a row, Byleth has hardly had time to talk to him. Tonight, he wears a pearl-white outfit befitting a prince, with a royal blue-fur cape trailing behind him.

Yet the concern on his face is as bright as blood. Byleth braces herself for what she believes to be the scolding of a lifetime. "Of course," she says. "What is it?"

He glances around. The night's festivities are in full swing, and the ballroom is occupied by hundreds of people dancing in a wide circle, one of Fódlan's many folk dance songs. Singers from the Mittelfrank Opera Company in Adrestia lead the charge, and it is so interesting to watch such luxurious people command such a common tune.

If he were not so thoroughly worried, Dimitri would be transfixed to the sight of dancing itself. Instead, he lowers his voice, and asks: "This dalliance with the bird-masked man...is it truly wise?"

"We've decided to call him Mockingbird," Byleth inserts. "Claude's idea."

"Right, Claude. I would suppose that by bothering to include all of us in this shenanigans, you sincerely mean to court this man."

"As I've said before, it's just a flight of fancy. If it were up to me, we wouldn't even be having this celebration to begin with." She raises a brow—an expression that gets lost behind her facade. "Is something wrong?"

"It's like you've said before: you have no idea if this man is a scoundrel, a rogue, or someone that wishes to do you harm." Dimitri shifts uncomfortably from one foot to another, and leans up against the wall, tired. He has spent the night dancing away with his childhood friends, a small group of people that Byleth likes just as much. They can still hear Sylvain's tipsy laughter from all the way over here. "And I just wanted to be sure of it before it was too late."

"Speaking honestly, I'd like it if he were a scoundrel." Byleth moves her gloved hands from her hips to the side of her legs, where a dagger neatly hides underneath the skirt, strapped to her skin. "Then I could test his strength for myself."

"Why did I know you would say that?" Dimitri sighs, but his tone is less offended than before. "As long as you know what you're doing. And if you'd like, Claude and I could ask some friends to look into him."

"No."

"What?"

"I don't want to know about him just yet," Byleth insists. "It takes all the fun and mystery out of it."

"El told me that you eventually plan on unmasking him," Dimitri says. "Do you really think he'll agree to that? And wouldn't you like to have an idea of what the man is like before that happens?"

"If he doesn't agree, then I'll simply drop the matter. And I would like the intrigue for once." She sighs, and leans back into the wall, herself. Fatigue from socialization now sets in heavily, and she is glad that at the very least, she is in the company of someone else who would rather not be here. "Everything else can be decided for me, everything else is revealed so easily. There are no mysteries for me in the world—except this one."

Dimitri softens. He has already given in.

Byleth pushes the final nail in his coffin. "Please, for just this month, let me dream."

/

/

Yuri discovers things about Byleth he would rather not know. For instance, he discovers that she is right-handed, as her steps and movements prefer this side of her body, and the way her dominant hand swirls drinks around is practiced, familiar, perfect. He knows she is right handed because of the way her hand clings to him, pressed firmly against his shoulder, or placed carefully on his side. They twirl and turn so gracefully, and it is her right hand that leads her every movement.

He also learns that her favorite colors are pink and black. He learns this as they talk about her first dress, and she admits that she dislikes bright colors. "Most of my outfits are chosen for me," she explains. "Though I do like the red, don't be mistaken."

"Well, you certainly look good in the color," Yuri agrees. "I'm sure if a rainbow threw up on you, you'd still be radiant."

And another thing he learns about her: she likes his sense of humor. It is a lie, of course, another facet of Yuri crafted to fool people and gain their false trust. Yet even his most banal comments earns a laugh from her, and like the rest of her voice, Byleth's laughter is _not_ melodious. Instead it is full, hardy, strong. She does not hesitate, and he imagines what her true smile behind the mask looks like. He wonders if the smile reaches her eyes.

It is that exact line of thinking that leads Yuri to believe he is doomed. He is on a mission, dammit. He should stick to the schedule.

Yet every night that passes, he finds himself less and less willing to put an end to her life. At first, he blames it on the dance itself. The people are too happy, joyous, and peaceful to be witness to such a crime. It is especially hard with all the children about, many who ask him to dance (lots of little girls are enamored with his appearance, apparently. They think him a knight. They couldn't be more wrong.), others who stare at him when he takes the princess away on their usual routine.

And the princess' companions, he realizes, are everywhere. When she is not occupied in dance or conversation with Yuri, Byleth is talking to any number of people, most of them armed in some way to imply she is never in danger's way, even in a vulnerable state such as a ball. It is strange because no one else has weapons, yet the woman in the eagle mask has a dagger around her waist, and the man with a lion mask is strong like a lean predator, himself. They both hover over her insistently, watching her.

It is a difficult task to carry out.

No wonder Aelfric put his mother's life in the balance.

Yuri is not coming out of this alive, and as the middle of Ethereal Moon approaches, he accepts this as a grim part of his reality.

Should he succeed in killing Byleth, then Yuri does not deserve to live a single second afterward.

This he knows for a fact.

/

/

They talk more than they should. Yuri discovers that Byleth loves cats and dogs, but is terribly allergic to the latter, and is not allowed to have the former. When asked why, she nods to the King and Queen. " _They're_ allergic," she sighs. "It's not meant to be."

Byleth discovers, by some slip-up on Yuri's end, that Yuri loves cats, too. He actually feeds the strays every now and then, and has a pet cat waiting for him at home. He curses himself for including any fact of his personal life, fabricated or not. He should not divulge himself to her in the least.

But her eyes are diamonds in his direction, and he is helpless to their shine.

They talk a lot after that, most of their topics mundane, but every word hushed and precious in their hearts.

Just as Yuri thought his own had stopped beating, so long ago.

/

/

**11th of Ethereal Moon.**

"My friends and I have been calling you 'Mockingbird,'" Byleth admits. Her long, violet, draping sleeves trail with her every movement, and Yuri is quite taken by them. In contrast, he is the pinkest rose, bedazzled and metallic where she is natural. They are perfect together, of course. They are lovely together, of course.

He grins widely. "Am I a _savage_ mockingbird, then?"

She snorts. "There is hardly anything savage about you."

"Is Her Highness questioning my character? I'd be remiss to correct you, y'know."

"Please just call me Byleth."

His smile drops. "That's not—"

"If it troubles you in front of others, then there is no need. But on the dance floor, or in the halls, when it's just you and me...please call me Byleth."

Her eyes are earnest and the lights above them are warm, which might explain Yuri's stupidest mistake thus far. "Then you can call me Yuri," he says too fast to correct himself. "Whether or not that is my true name...well, you'll just have to find out."

She smiles. "Yuri." They twirl, and in the last crescendo of the song, she whispers: "I like that name."

/

/

**14th of Ethereal Moon.**

There is an incident on the dance floor. Yuri, dressed in Faerghus blue (for what reason he decides to reveal his origin to Byleth, he cannot ever hope to know), is with Byleth, who is adorned in what can only be Leicester gold. The two of them are dancing as usual, and the same excited whispers and strings of gossip are shared among the onlookers. Everything is the same as it had been.

Except, this time, Yuri _drops_ Byleth. His fingers forget his arms which forget his shoulders which forget his neck which forgets his _head_ because at this point, he has long disregarded what should be considered _logical_ and _true._ At this point, he has nearly given up on himself, his mother, and his _task_ as he decides to live out the fantasies of a man who seeks to woo the princess.

He drops Byleth, and she clutters to the floor disgracefully. Perhaps she expects him to hold onto her—perhaps she hopes that he would catch her.

Instead, he stands completely still, unmoving as her body _thuds_ against the marble floors. Were he a smart man, then he would take this momentary lapse in judgement to its fullest, and plunge the dagger into the deepest trenches of her heart. Were he a merciful man, then he would break her neck with one well-placed stomp of his boot, and use all his strength to evade the legions of guards that would surely come after him.

Were he anything but a _fool,_ then Yuri would act in place of silence and stupidity.

Instead, he stands completely still, unaffected by the gasps around him, and the painful sound that tumbles out of Byleth's mouth, unbidden.

They were in the middle of a dip, after all.

She was not ready to fall.

/

/

"Unfortunately, due to unforeseen circumstances, the princess has suffered a minor injury to her ankle. She will heal well, but the month's festivities must be put at a temporary halt until she fully recovers. We ask that all visitors take their leave now. You will be informed of any developments at posthaste."

/

/

**20th of Ethereal Moon.**

Yuri is a fool. He is a fool because the deadline is coming up, and he still agonizes over the choice. He is a fool because he let twenty days pass by without incident, and his letters from Aelfric indicate that time is against him. There is precious opportunity left to act upon.

He is running out of excuses.

And yet, the ball is scheduled to resume in three days' time. He knows that. He knows he simply has to bide his strength, and unleash it on a final dance at the end of the pregnant pause. All he has to do is stab her, in someplace fatal and true, so she suffers less and he does not have to watch her die a slow, painful death.

As he recites these things to himself, he has to wonder how it got to this point. One moment, Yuri is lying in the shadows, pondering his options ( _I could save my mother I could kill Aelfric I could tell Byleth I could ask for help I could run away I could kill Mother myself so I don't have to suffer I could—_ ), the next moment, he is scaling the palace's walls, sneaking past guards and hiding behind pillars.

The final moment, he climbs onto Byleth's balcony. His footsteps are silent as he passes through the threshold, sneaking through the double doors decorated in glass. His voice is hushed as he enters her room. His face is controlled against any emotion that dares to show itself.

"Yuri?" she asks, in a voice much quieter than he has ever known. "What are you doing here?"

He fails for the umpteenth time that month, because instead of killing her in her vulnerable state as he should, he merely approaches her cautiously, and puts her fears and worries to bed.

"I've come to apologize."

She blinks, and he realizes that for once, she is not hidden behind a mask. Neither is he, and the two of them stare at each other's true complexion for the first time ever.

And he spends the rest of the night in her bedroom, talking about nothing and everything at once.

Her head rests against his shoulder when she falls asleep.

Her heart beats in tandem with his as he considers seriously running away.

/

/

_They'd never find us in time._

/

/

**22nd of Ethereal Moon.**

"If you keep coming to see me at night, someone's going to take notice."

"I know."

She smiles, wryly, making him question everything he understands about her. "Do you _want_ us to get caught?"

He laughs, chastely, dispelling any actual concern with some well-placed mischief. "Do we have anything we need to get caught _for?_ "

"Perhaps this."

And she leans forward, hands firm as she kisses him, tenderly, slowly.

He lets her, as he has always wanted to let her do from the start.

Then her fingers find themselves in his hair, and his hands find themselves at her side, every inch of their bodies desperate to explore the other's. The more he touches her, the more he wants her, and in between gasps and sighs of pleasure, he steals her breath, too—steals the passion and love from her voice, and replaces it with emptiness.

With _longing._

She has made a mess of his clothes, now, and is too eager to undo every fastening that keeps him whole.

"Are you sure," he whispers, voice too muddied by deliriousness and love to form a proper question.

"I'm sure," she answers, eyes too intense and voice too strong to be anything but.

Then they fall into each other, and their dance continues long into the night, after the music has ended, and after the people have scattered.

It is just them, the bedroom, and the ethereal moonlight above them.

It is perfect.

/

/

**23rd of Ethereal Moon.**

Somewhere along the way, Yuri messed up. He understands this, and dreads every second of his life because of it. He walks through the gates of the royal castle, completely casual as if he hadn't infiltrated their security and ravaged their princess the night prior. But today is the day when the festivities are officially resumed, and the other innocent citizens have no idea of the madness that transpired while they were gone.

They do not know that the decision to kill the princess has gone exponentially up in difficulty. They do not know that to kill Byleth is to kill a part of Yuri, and he is damned one way or another, because someone he loves is going to die either way.

Does he give up his lifeblood, or the new passion that ignites a fire in his veins?

He does not know, and for the first time since meeting her, Yuri dreads seeing Byleth.

So it is fitting that on the night of the ball's reopening, the princess is weighed down in fire opals and flames—a phoenix reimagined in a human's form, dress feathery and bright.

Rising from the ashes of his mistakes.

/

/

"Will you not dance with me?" Byleth asks over their drinks. They share a space together in the courtyard pergola, the one with a good view of the hedge maze and rose bushes. It is Byleth's favorite place in the entire castle, apparently. It is her sanctuary.

Yuri feels as damned as a demon stepping onto holy ground. His body burns at the sight, and he averts his gaze for the first time in a long time.

Shame is the new life flowing through him.

He sighs. "I will not." He stands to his feet. "I should leave. We should not— _this_ should not happen."

He expects her to be outraged, but instead she sighs. Disappointed. Unamused. As if this was something to be made a spectacle of. "I see. I expected as much."

For some reason, this hurts more than the possibility of being upset. He huffs, trying to school his expressions, but failing. She does not need to remove his mask to understand he is angry—his twisted mouth and acidic voice are enough. "Did you, now? And when in the last twenty four hours did you surmise as much?"

"Around the same time you decided this was a mistake," she hisses. "I said I was sure, and now you—"

"You don't understand a damned thing." His knuckles are white as he punches the garden table between them. He hears something crack—probably his fingers, and he can feel a warm shooting pain go up his digits—but ignores it. He tastes blood in the back of his throat, but swallows it without complaint. "If things were different, if it weren't like this, then I'd—"

"You'd what?"

"I'd take you away from here. I'd take you on any adventure you wanted. I'd be yours, and only yours, in heart and home." Yuri laughs, in spite of himself. "I wouldn't have to walk away from you if I could."

"Yet here you are, about to walk away from me."

"I have to."

"You don't have to."

"I _must."_

"Why?"

"I can't tell you."

"Well, then. Isn't this just perfect?" She stands, too, and now it is Byleth who walks away from the pergola. Her jewelry sparkles in the moonlight, every bauble reminding him of the distance between them.

Far greater distance than just physical. "Byleth—"

"Have fun with your secrets, Yuri. I have somewhere to be."

And worse than any threats from Aelfric are the words that resound in Yuri's own head. Usually, they are self-deprecating things, but tonight, they are reminders of all he has ever lost.

A loud chorus of _I told you so_ , together with _It was a mistake,_ and everything else in between.

If their love cannot be saved, there is only one end to this twisted story of theirs.

A cruel reality for an Ethereal Moon.

/

/

**27th of Ethereal Moon.**

"Hey, kid." Jeralt claps a hand on Byleth's shoulder, softly enough that she does not flinch. Not that she would flinch to begin with, but he knows a sadness when he sees one.

He knows a _broken heart_ when he hears one, in those late nights where she thinks no one can hear her. But a passing father in a passing hallway hears more than anyone would ever care to admit. To this, he furrows his brows, and pulls her in close as the last guest leaves the castle grounds.

"It's gonna be okay," he reminds her. "Listen, you don't have to feel pressured by anyone. This ball isn't for suitors. You don't have to worry about that guy, or anything."

"And how do you know—" _hiccup—_ "that I am sad over a... _guy?"_

"By," he sighs out. "Everyone knows about the Mockingbird."

Her eyes go wide for a second. "Did Edelgard—"

"Actually, it was Dimitri."

"He wouldn't."

"You're right: he wouldn't. But of the three friends you've got, he's the easiest one to break."

" _Dad."_

"I admire your bravery to go out and chase whoever lights a fire in you," he says quietly. "But you shouldn't tear yourself up over these things when they don't work out. Someone in your position—you're bound to run into obstacles. So if the guy isn't willing to scale those walls with you, you're better off without him."

She sniffles. She never cries, not really, so he enjoys this sadness in her, in a strange and harmless way. "Really?"

"Really. So you take the time you need to think about all of this, okay? And don't let the rumors get to you, either."

"Thanks," she mutters. "Thank you. You and Mom, you're still looking out for me, after all this time."

"Of course. You're our daughter, and we love you." He ruffles her hair in that way she likes, and they both laugh in tandem. "On the bright side, if you show that smile to your mom, she might stop throwing a fit about the whole thing."

"Oh no." Byleth giggles. "Is it bad?"

"Really bad. She started saying things like 'Off with his head!' and she's not kidding." Their smiles fade at the same time. "We'd better go talk to her."

And though she detests him for breaking off their dalliance so suddenly, Byleth quickly decides that she would not want any harm whatsoever to befall him. If Yuri thinks Byleth is scary, he has no idea what _Sitri_ has in store. With a solemn nod, she says: "Let's hurry, _before_ she summons the entire army to go after one man."

/

/

**29th of Ethereal Moon.**

"Your Highness, may I have this dance?"

The whole group looks to turn. Edelgard is dressed in a proper black outfit with ruffles, while Dimitri matches her in a dark gray suit and a black half-coat, while Claude stands against them both in egg-white silks and golden chains. Byleth is different from all of them, as she is dressed head-to-toe in emerald green satin. She looks like spring, when the rest of the world mourns in winter.

Yuri is like the sunset, with different shades of orange and yellow and red, intermingled with just enough purple to truly remind of the sky at twilight. On any other occasion, Byleth would praise his fashion (one of the many things she loves about him), but tonight, she is unimpressed with his appearance, as sudden and unwarranted as it is.

"I'm not sure," she starts to say. "Will you warn me this time before you drop me?"

His smile does not falter, but she knows her words sting him. Yet his hand is offered to her, nonetheless, and it is his hand that intrigues her.

For the first time since the ball began (passionate nights notwithstanding), Byleth is _not_ wearing gloves, and neither is Yuri. His slender hand before her is the same as it was back then, and this time she can take his lead in full, feel him for what he really is.

He grins. "I will. I swear it."

She turns to her friends, who all wear varying looks of dismay, then decides. "Fine. One dance, and that's it."

"One dance is more than enough."

 _Damn you and your charming ways._ "Alright."

They reach the dancefloor, where time itself stops in their presence. The rest of the people in the ballroom seem to pause, and give them ample space to display their grace and beauty.

Give them ample space to whisper in secret, which is no doubt Yuri's intent for offering to dance in the first place. He has been absent from the past few nights of camaraderie, and Byleth is no stranger as to why.

They are in the middle of the song when he mutters: "I am dangerous."

She replies with: "And _I_ am Byleth. Why are you stating the obvious?"

"You wound me, friend. I'm not messing around this time. There's a reason I even attended this madness in the first place."

"If it was to hook me, line me, and _sink_ me, then congratulations. You have succeeded on nearly every front." Her smile is forlorn as they part for a few dance moves, coming back together in an arc underneath the crystal chandelier. "Maybe you'll be happy to know that I, like a child scolded, cried over you. Stupid, isn't it?"

"It is." His voice is harsh, but not harmful. As if he feared this was the outcome all along. "But it's my fault. That _is_ what I wanted, but the reason why isn't what you think it is."

"And what is the reason you decided to cross paths with me, almost an entire month ago?"

The song has reached its peak, and the music is so high-strung that their hearts feel like they have expanded in their chests. Byleth has to hold her breath as Yuri dips her _really_ low, but unlike last time, his grip is iron and his eyes are steel.

He gets so close to her face, it is like the night they shared in Byleth's room, where doubt and passion melted into one heated exchange.

"I have been contracted to _kill_ you."

She says nothing.

They rise up, and the room applauds their display. Yuri keeps his voice to an inadmissible low next to her ear. "I have until the end of the month. If I wasn't such a damn fool myself, you'd be dead already."

"So instead, you're a fool, and I still live?" She laughs out loud, and they are thankful that for once, the room is too alive for her volume to be noticed. "What a disappointment, indeed. Thank you, Yuri, I feel so much better now."

"You have to understand, there is no way out for me. It's you or my mother."

And Yuri is a trickster, a rogue, a rapscallion by all means, but he is not a _joker._ He does not joke about matters so personal and light—matters he has kept secret all this time. Byleth feels the weight of his words on her shoulders, and suddenly everything makes a terrible amount of sense. "So then—"

"You or her," he reminds. "And it was supposed to be easy. It was supposed to happen the first night, when we met under the lights."

"What happened?" Byleth dares to ask, though she anticipates the answer. "What made you change your mind?"

By now, the night is in full swing, and a small army of people—heralded by her three masked friends, no doubt—are ready to swoop her away. Byleth feels herself being led by their energy, but before she completely separates from Yuri, he practically sings in her ear.

" _You did."_

/

/

**30th of Ethereal Moon.**

One last dance. Tonight and the night after is all the time Yuri has left to make his decision, and each dance feels like the last. He regrets falling for her the way he did—he regrets _involving_ her the way he did. Byleth Eisner should have been a corpse by now. Her funeral is long overdue.

Yet he hesitates to bring it to fruition, despite knowing whose life is on the line. He hesitates, because Yuri Leclerc is a bad son, and a worse person.

He hesitates.

On the eve of the last night of freedom, Yuri keeps to himself. He does not dance with Byleth as usual, but instead cycles between the three masked friends. He learned over a week ago that they are indeed Edelgard von Hresvelg, Claude von Riegan, and Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. He knows that Byleth's friends and allies are none other than the branched royal heirs themselves, those that keep individual territories within Fódlan in check. He knows the power and sway they have over Byleth, and the protection they swear themselves to in the same way.

He knows.

Yet, he dances with each of them, and none of them are the same. Edelgard is graceful, as she wants to be, but there is a _ferocity_ to her movements that cannot go unnoticed. There is something straightforward and headstrong about her, and she leads Yuri in the dance more often than he leads her. She does not yield to him, despite knowing the effect he has on her closest friend. They are matched.

On the other hand, Dimitri is more clumsy. One would think that as the Faerghus head of power, Dimitri would have all the grace and poise as a person of his station would allow. Instead, he fumbles with his movements, and steps on Yuri more often than either of them would like. Yet, despite the rapid string of apologies or awkward encounters with other dancing couples, nothing in Dimitri's posture or stance indicates weakness. He is kind, but unwavering. His eyes are too discerning to be completely pure. Yuri does not forget the way Dimitri stares at him.

Dancing with Claude is like dancing in front of a mirror, Yuri decides. Claude is so similar in temperament and in methodology that it all feels a little too close for home. Of course, despite constantly complaining that the ball is too stuffy and the dances are too old-fashioned, Claude expertly pulls off every move in the book, and even some more complicated steps that Yuri adds in for fun. They joke and laugh over the smallest of things, but there is a guarded secrecy between them that only two people cut from the same cloth can have. They, again, are matched.

They remind Yuri that all eyes are on him tonight, and the final night of the festivities thereafter. They remind him that they know who he is, and that if he were to lay a single hand on Byleth, he would face death no sooner than instant. No more violent than gruesome. As if their vengeance would stop a dagger from piercing Byleth's heart.

As if their resolve could even measure up to a _fraction_ of his own.

As he concludes his final dance with Claude, Yuri is quick to resign himself to the alcoholic drinks all night. He wonders if he should get completely destroyed before murdering Byleth. He wonders if the drinks will make everything go away.

Then, as the night comes to a close, as Yuri is about to leave, he is stopped by someone stranger and scarier than all the palace guards combined.

"Yuri?" Queen Sitri asks him. She looks like an angel in her ridiculously long-white dress, and mother-of-pearl strings all along her arms and sides. Byleth takes after her much more than the King, he decides, because her hair is almost the same shade of blue, and is just as long and unruly, if not wildly longer. "May I have a moment of your time?"

"Your Majesty," he addresses her with a polite bow. "Of course. What do you need?"

"I have been made aware of your... _relationship_ with my daughter." Her tone is concerned, maternal, and wholly compassionate. He suspects that Byleth has not yet told her the horrible reality that is his consignment to killing her. She goes on to say, "And I want to thank you for accepting her as she is."

What?

 _What? You're_ thanking _me? Even though I was going to kill her?_

 _Even if I still_ might _kill her?_

_Are you fucking insane?_

"I'm not sure that anything I've done is deserving of thanks," he starts delicately. "Her Highness would be better off without me."

"I'm not so sure of that. I'll have you know that my daughter has been through a lot. Her life, despite its station, is not easy, and if you couldn't tell, she has a few select people to call her friends." Sitri smiles, and it feels like the sun's rays in the midst of summer: an impressive feat considering the dead of winter they now reside in. "Even fewer to find romantic or intimate interest in. To no one's surprise, her life has consisted of various suitors and people attempting to court her, but none of those situations can be thought of as genuine."

"And yet mine can?" Yuri says thoughtlessly. "You would scold proper people of proper intentions, but praise me for mine? Do you have any idea what I had in mind for your daughter?"

"I have some guesses, of course. Some fears that were once voiced by His Majesty before your involvement with our daughter even began." Her smile is unmoving. "I know a certain truth about you, and a truth beyond that. I know your hands are bound by duty."

"And so what are you saying? Is this your blessing to have your daughter _killed?"_

"This is a reminder that things are hardly what they seem. If you would continue to humor me tonight, there is something important you must bear witness to." She pauses, and looks around. Most of the visitors are gone, and only castle staff remains. The gatekeeper looks at them nervously. "Please, speak with Byleth tonight. She requests your presence."

"Alright." _This is so stupid._ "Shall I head to the reception room or will I be escorted there?"

"Neither," Sitri responds too happily, like they are involved in a game of some sorts. "Byleth says to meet her in the usual spot. I have agreed to this rendezvous beforehand, so surely you understand the importance of the meeting."

"I don't know what any of you are getting at, but sure." Yuri huffs, and takes a step back. "I'll go see her. I might as well, while she's still alive."

If his words bother the reigning queen, she does not show it. Instead, she merely nods, and calls for the guards, herself. "Then, I am off to bed. Thank you for your time, Yuri."

He does not welcome her or respond in kind, and thankfully, she does not push him further, in turn. He watches her silhouette fade away in the distance—witnesses her light becoming swallowed by the dark—before turning on his heels to move.

There are two places where Byleth could be, and judging by her mother's words, the place where her very trust and innocence were both pierced and destroyed would _not_ be it.

So instead, Yuri heads to the courtyard, where the maze of hedges and roses await.

Where his _destiny_ awaits.

/

/

"I could have you killed," he hisses. He bears no weapon, but his ability to sneak up on Byleth as she sits in the pergola is worrisome. He has admitted to his task already, so she should take him more seriously. "Why are you doing this?"

"If you were going to kill me, I'd be dead already." She eyes him warily. Her mask is gone, but his mask is still on. She believes that he needs it more than anything, right now. Except for her. "That's what you were saying, right? Earlier in the week, when you first revealed to me what your intentions were."

"You _should_ be dead already," he points out. "But I fucked up. And now I waited 'til the end, when everything fell apart, anyway. So why bother reminding me of what I already know?"

"I don't think you're going to kill me," Byleth insists. She leans back into her seat comfortably, eyes trained to the bits of sky visible through the roof above them. "Even after all of this, I don't think you will."

"You mistake me for a man who has got nothing to lose," he snaps. "When the reality is that I have _everything_ to lose."

"Your mother," she states without question. "Because of a wicked man, right? He put you up to it and my death is the only way to reconcile."

"Yes, thank you for restating what is driving me up the damn wall and tearing me in two this whole time. It's not like I've been agonizing over it, or anything." If only sarcasm could heal him as much as it hurts him, then he would never have to resort to it at all. "Is that why you've asked me to come? To beat me over the head with my circumstances?"

"To tell you there is a way out."

"How? What possibility is there where neither of you are harmed?"

"You're saying that you either have to kill me or forsake your mother."

"Yes."

"What if you could do one and prevent the other? Or better yet, not have to really resort to either at all?"

A dry laugh. "Then I'd be the happiest man alive. What the hell are you suggesting?"

Byleth stands up from her seat, and steps closer to Yuri. She offers him her hand, and he realizes it is not a gesture of peace or comfort, but an invitation to _dance._

With the moon as their witness, and the silence as their music, Byleth Eisner is asking Yuri Leclerc to dance, circumstances be damned.

And Yuri, for all his selfishness, for all his indecision, for all his _foolishness_ , takes her up on the offer.

As they step to the beat of an unknown song, the black sky with white dots becomes their backdrop, and their voices paint it a myriad of colors, from purple to white to yellow to pink. Through it all, Byleth offers Yuri an alternative to his answers of pain.

In a world of black and white, Byleth gives him _gray,_ and Yuri finally sees _color._

An ethereal night in an Ethereal Moon.

/

/

**31st of Ethereal Moon.**

"How do you know he'll be here?" Dimitri's eyes flicker around the room nervously. Thank goodness for the masks, even if they, too, will be a thing of the past in merely an hour. "This whole thing rides on him being here, right?"

"He'll be here," Yuri reassures. He takes another swig of his drink, even though it does nothing for his nerves. But his practiced imitations (loosened shoulders, straightened back, sloppier smile) implies that it is the exact kind of nervousness he wants to display. He wants the chaos, anxiety, and uncertainty to show. He wants to fool anyone else who is not privy to his schemes. "I'm going to make a spectacle of it, and he'll want to be here. Besides, if I know him the way I do, he'll want to be up close and personal to the carnage."

Dimitri's face goes sour. "What a deplorable man. I'm sorry you've had to deal with him for so long."

"Don't be—it ends tonight. Only if things go well, of course." Another swig, another sigh. At least the drinks are good, all things considered. "There's still a chance we mess this up."

"That's what we're here for, right?"

"Right."

"Hey!" Claude shouts happily from across the room, with giggling friends on every inch of his arms. He strings them along like puppets, and Yuri remembers some of them, according to his mundane chats with Claude last night. The girl with the rose-pink hair and heart-shaped mask is Hilda, and the guy with obnoxious purple hair and a regal crane's mask is Lorenz. There are others that Claude associates with, but judging by their drunken laughter and stumbling posture, those are the two that stand out the most. "Sorry, these guys are _crazy."_

Yuri watches as Claude's friends peel themselves off of him one-by-one, and scoffs at the display. "You said it."

"Claude, you shouldn't be so nonchalant given the... _situation,"_ Dimitri murmurs. "What if the enemy had seen you?"

Claude quickly glances around them, finding no threat to their immediate surroundings, and leans in to whisper. "That's the _point,_ Dimitri. If I look unconcerned, then they won't suspect that something's up. Why am I explaining this to you? What happened to the notes you took in Scheming 101?"

Yuri snorts and Dimitri despairs, equally offended noises coming from the two of them. "That's not—you really expected me to read through _three volumes_ of books you had handwritten on the topic of scheming? As if they weren't just filled with jokes of your liking?"

"Hey, I spent some serious time on that stuff. I'm even thinking of getting it published."

"In all seriousness," Yuri pipes up. "Does Edelgard—"

"She's got her part in this, as we all do. Don't worry so much." Claude smirks. "It's just a life-or-death situation, we've dealt with those before. Think of it as any other Tuesday in the week."

"Easy for you to say," Dimitri mutters. "It isn't _your_ life at stake."

"True. But I mean it when I say that I'll do my damndest to make sure their lives aren't in danger, either."

Despite their words of encouragement, Yuri feels no more whole than he had before. Still, he manages a quiet laugh, and reaches for another drink on the table. "Well," he says. "I'll just have to hold you to it."

/

/

A man in a beastly red-and-black mask walks through the castle gates. He is dressed from head-to-toe in somber colors and shapeless robes, but he is not the strangest sight that night, and virtually goes unnoticed by the general populace. As he floats through the crowd, a shadow, he grins beneath the facade.

Finally, the deed will be carried out, and his dreams of destroying the Queen's family and the nation's leaders will come true.

And what better place to spectate the carnage than in the very front, where the blood spray will be fresh and warm, and the screams of people will resonate like a personal orchestra?

As the man takes his place at the forefront of the crowd watching the princess and the mockingbird dance, his heart beats faster than he has ever known it to beat.

It is time.

/

/

Step, step, glide. "Is he watching us?"

Step, step, turn, twirl. "Yes. The black robes by the pillar, with the beast mask. That's him."

Sway, sway. "Are you ready?"

Sway, sway, sway. "Born ready."

Step, step, twirl, step. "Then let's dazzle them, shall we?"

Step, step, dip. Dip, dip, dip. "We shall."

Yuri removes the dagger from his flesh, and twirls it high in the air for the world to see. The time it takes for anyone to register the metallic glint in his hand is too late, because in the blink of an eye, the dagger is buried deep into Byleth's chest, hilt exposed and chest gasping.

The blood spatters against the marble, and Queen Sitri's desperate screams echo throughout the ballroom, silencing anything and everything else.

The man in the beast mask—Aelfric—stumbles forth from the crowd, elated when all others are consumed by despair and confusion. He glances from Yuri's hands, to Byleth's collapsed form, to the spinning lights of the swaying chandelier. He confirms his worst fears, his sweetest dreams, his life's ambition in one full sweep.

Byleth Eisner is dead.

/

/

"Do you people see now? Your leaders are weak, foolish people. It is only a matter of time before the Queen and King are next." Aelfric has gained control of the room, and no one dares to speak before him. He even goes as far as to unmask himself, laughing madly in the midst of his work. "You can come for me as you wish, but the true killer is none other than the Savage Mockingbird you all so adore and admire—Yuri Leclerc!"

He turns around and freezes in place. Yuri Leclerc is standing, covered in red, with a dagger trembling in his left hand. However, instead of anger, sadness, or regret on his face, there is a big _smile,_ and the bird mask has long been removed from his face.

By none other than Byleth Eisner herself. She stands to her feet, unharmed, though her white dress is stained crimson and torn. Through the messes in her seams, he spots the true perpetrator of blood—a slab of raw meat, soaked through with animal blood. The meat is placed above her heart, and a dark black sliver exists in the spot where it was stabbed by Yuri's dagger. A fake, a distraction, a sacrifice.

She is alive.

And they stare at Aelfric, and he realizes now his mistake. In the midst of his delirium, he has not only revealed himself as a murderous conspirator, but the true _criminal_ of the scene, as Yuri Leclerc has not murdered the princess in the least.

A dozen guards surround Aelfric at once, and separate him from the innocence of the crowd. Children cry out, adults wonder what is the truth, but through the chaos, at least one thing is certain.

The love the mockingbird feels is true, as he sweeps the princess in his arms, and kisses the daylights out of her. The dagger has no place in her heart, it seems.

Because Yuri has taken it as his own long ago.

/

/

"Yuri?" A frail woman, with his every likeness and none of his glamour, asks him. The room they find her in is destroyed, dirtied, and ill-befitting of an insect, let alone a person.

Her son nearly sobs. It is not until he stumbles forward, falling to his knees to meet his mother eye-level, that he goes into a full-blown cry. Tears cascade down his face, and his voice morphs into something vulnerable and _ugly_ as he buries his face in the crook of her neck.

Through it all, Byleth and her three closest friends stand watch, equally horrified and relieved at the sight. They are silent, and hours must pass in the time it has taken them to find Yuri's mother and reunite the two safely.

Then, several guards help to steady the woman, and carry her to the royal infirmary, where the best medics in the world will see to her recovery. Yuri stays by her side for five hours, until he is kicked out by the attendants, for fear that his presence will "worsen things" while she is at her most vulnerable. Against his will, Yuri is separated from his mother yet again, though this time, he can rest easy knowing that she lies far from the clutches of a madman.

When he emerges from the infirmary, Byleth is waiting for him. She has changed out of her bloodied clothes into something more casual, but still white and luxurious. The dress is short as it barely reaches past her thighs, an expanse of skin that reveals a garter, as well as a dagger pressed neatly to her side.

Killing her was always an option, but as Yuri knows it, it would not have been easy.

She would have made sure of that. "I'm glad your mother is okay," she says.

"Okay is one thing. Aelfric should—I'd hang him myself if you'd let me."

"He will be handed over to the justice system. Mother and Father will see to that." She grins. "But he's probably not going to last very long either way."

"Good." Yuri hugs her in a sudden rush, leaning into her so much that she falls back onto the wall for support. "I've missed you. I'm so—I won't forget this, not as long as I live."

"I'm just happy that things worked out," Byleth whispers. She runs a hand through his hair, and sighs deeply. The scent of flowers and blood are intermingled, but they are scents she finds comfort in. It is his scent that keeps her demonic blood at bay. "The ball may be over, but if it's possible, I'd like one last dance."

"For you, I'd dance until my legs turned to dust."

"And afterward?"

"If you don't mind hobbling my legless body around, then I'd still dance."

She laughs. "You're so _weird."_

"Says the one with a dagger strapped to her inner thigh."

"Says the one who had a dagger _in his leg."_

"Would you be surprised to know that it isn't the strangest thing I've stuck inside my own body?"

She wants to burn at his playful words, but instead she merely flicks his ear for his impudence, muttering. "Not at all."

And the rest of the night passes easily. They dance in Byleth's room, twirling and twirling until their display takes them to the balcony, where they laugh over the most trivial things, and Byleth passes on her royal knowledge of astrology over to Yuri. They point at the night sky, calling out the names of arrangements of stars long since passed, and speaking of the myths that their ancestors used to regard as sacred truths.

Yuri's hand never leaves Byleth, and their eyes never stray from the sky, the stars, their faces. The grand celebration is over, and the masquerade has ended. Masks will be put to rest, and the truth lives out every day thereafter.

Long after the clock has struck midnight, Yuri and Byleth catch each other in more heated conditions, their lips and their eyes tangled in a battle of passion and reassurance. As if by undoing every hook, zipper, and string, they are adding onto the collection of things between them. As if by breaking down the walls, they are building something greater than either of them truly know or understand.

At the peak of intimacy, wherein there are no boundaries between them, and their colors are mixed in an inseparable mess of desire and lust, Yuri stares down at Byleth, and cups her face with his hand. "I love you," he whispers, half-broken.

"I love you, too," she admits, hardly fixed, herself.

Then they fall into each other, and shatter completely.

A physical end to an Ethereal Moon.


End file.
